


I'm not *an* Alpha, but I'll be *your* alpha

by kyuubi_wench



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Body Modification, F/M, Implied Mpreg, Infertility, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mercy Killing, Prompt Fill, Scars, Sexual Content, Triggers, mentions of culling, no actual death, space strap-on, space tech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuubi_wench/pseuds/kyuubi_wench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows who he wants to see him through his heat. He may have forgotten to tell her about it before it arrives, however. </p><p> </p><p>Prompt fill for: http://jakink.dreamwidth.org/724.html?thread=11220#cmt11220</p><p>' A while after the movie Cain Wise goes into heat (space werewolf heat!) and Jupiter doesn't know what to do. Basically, he's an omega who needs a knot. Stinger either comes over in person to assist or talks Jupiter through it. Bonus points if there's some alien device (Cain carries on him at all times just in case?) that transforms into an alpha penis. Bonus bonus points for cunnilingus before/after Jupiter helps Cain through his heat. '</p><p>(No actual sex between Caine and Stinger, but there's some intense space- sharing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not *an* Alpha, but I'll be *your* alpha

**Author's Note:**

> about the tags: Stinger says some potentially triggery things about Caine's creators/ splice- makers. He doesn't agree with what was done to Caine to turn him from omega-breeder into a Soldier, and it comes out in a few strong words. There's mentions of scars (both about infertility and the wing- scars). There's some sex. There's a decent amount of dialogue. 
> 
> Warnings are there to be heeded, mind your own limits. Flames will be deleted. Constructive Criticism is *always* welcome. 
> 
> Prompt fill, I think I got most of it. OP, I hope you enjoy!!
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: 7/7/15 Dude, i have over a hundred kudos to this fic which kinda makes up for the lack of comments. THANK YOU!!  
>  
> 
> Beta- read by the lovely Olorisstra!! thanks hun!!

“Stinger!”

He grips the door harder at the voice-panicky, high- on the comm, where Caine and Jupiter both can reach him. “Your Majesty. What can I do-”

“Caine's here and he's rolling on the floor and I don't understand what's happening. I think he's injured but he won't let me touch him! He sounds hurt, Stinger, and I don't know what-” 

He's airborne before the first sentence is finished, wings pushing him high and hard. He doesn't need anti-grav boots, he knows how to use his wings for maximum speed. He does interrupt her. “I'll be there in ten minutes, Majesty. Offer him a blanket and I'll explain when I get there. Do not let him leave.” 

She sputters something out but he's already reaching up and flicking the comm off. Foolish pup, forgetting his body's chemistry in the wake of everything that has happened in the last two months. Stinger stops off at the hidden ship Caine uses to jump between worlds, digging behind one of the lesser- known storage panels. A package, one that is not unlike a shrunken Earth backpack, tumbles into his hands. He clutches it to his chest and hurries on to Jupiter's new apartment, where the call had originated. 

He lands a block away in a trash-bin filled alley and jogs around to her apartment building, planting a discrete sensor by the main door. It would alert him if anything not of Earth walked into the building, especially other Splices. Then he takes the stairs, folding his wings tightly against his back to avoid immediate notice, and quickly finds his way to Jupiter's door. 

She ushers him inside with a look and a hand on his jacket collar, pointing toward the unmistakable sounds Caine makes, whining and trembling as he curls over and over on the carpet. “Wait here, Your Majesty,” Stinger rumbles, putting the unopened package in her arms. 

There is no denying the scent, ripe and heady, just the faintest sour under-note of infertility. The body is barren, but chemistry and biology hadn't been genetically altered to turn him into a beta. Stinger knows the scars, knew them when he first met Caine, had seen where the scientists had removed the boy's eggs. 

They hadn't been merciful enough to alter his make-up to render him genetically beta or even completely neuter him, instead supplying patches that muted the heat to a single day of distracting under-the-skin itchiness, with violent and aggressive side effects. It had been brutally effective on the lycantant, turning him even more into a knife- edged soldier. 

Now, though, out of the daily rhythm of the Skyjackers, distracted by new schedules and habits, biology has finally caught up with him. 

Caine turns toward him, eyes half- closed and nose in the air, whining pathetically from where he lay curled under a couch- sized throw blanket. Stinger smiles a little bitterly. As alpha as his genetic make-up might be, he could not fully satisfy the lycantant's urges. But his presence _could_ soothe the heat, if only Jupiter would be open minded enough for this. 

“Calm down, Wise,” Stinger rumbles, and Caine rolls onto his back, arching his spine in a decadently sinful fashion. A sharp whine fills the room. “Have you told her anything?” 

Caine's jaw works but he just shakes his head instead of forming words. His half-opened eyes peer pathetically up at Stinger. 

“You're beyond words.” It's a statement, but the lycantant jerks his head again anyway, and Stinger sighs. “You should have come see me. Or gone to the medical staff. They could have taken care of this.” 

Caine drops back to the floor and rolls again, curling up on his side, shuddering. His scent is getting thicker under the half- protective shield of the blanket. He shakes his head again, vigorous between the shudders, burning some of the last of his energy in a denial. 

“She's female and human, Wise,” Stinger hisses between his teeth, too low for Jupiter to hear but easily within Caine's, even muddled as he is. This only produces a sharp pleading whine. “I thought you might. I grabbed your kit. I trust it is still fully packed?” 

The kit contains heat supportive necessities that, as far as Stinger knows, Caine hadn't ever had to use during heat. Although he'd caught the lycantant using one particular item once or twice outside of it. Caine whimpers but manages to give a jerky nod. 

“You're going to strip under that blanket while I see if I can convince her to help. And I might not be able to give you what you want but I'll stay, be your guard. Be the scent you need.” 

Caine offers a much more eager sound and squirms under the blanket in ways that indicate he's trying to undress. Stinger leaves him to it and goes back to where Jupiter is waiting, wide eyed and worried by her own front door. 

“Is he alright?”

“He's healthy, and not in danger of dying, no matter how he may sound.” Stinger reaches around her and taps another tiny button onto the wall next to the door. This one will muffle noises coming from the apartment and help filter the air, keep Caine's scent from drawing outside attention. “But he needs things that neither of us are singularly capable of providing. If we work together we should be able to bring him some form of relief.” 

The words sharpen her attention on him, and he finds himself in the unique position of that particular gaze. At least last time she'd been partially distracted by the everything going on. He straightened himself and decides blunt is the best way to go. 

“He's in a very particular position where he needs a certain sort of pheromone, and he needs to be fucked. Rutted, actually.”

He gets a nice slow blink and steels himself for having to explain what could be potentially embarrassing to her, and then he sees something in the back of her eyes harden. It doesn't scare him the same way as if it were any of the Abraxas, but it's still vaguely intimidating. 

“If sex is what he needs, with the both of us, then I'll do what I have to.” 

Not _quite_ what he'd been expecting, but somehow still positive. He thinks. 

“Actually, I have the pheromones he needs but not the anatomy. You will have to supply that. Everything you need is in that package.” He points, indicating the one in Jupiter's hands. “The contents may be strange for you, surprising. It's space tech. But I can promise it will satisfy him as he needs.” 

She glances down at the package in her hands for a long moment before her eyes go wide. Then she looks up at him with that _tilt_ to her head that he's started to become familiar with. “Are you saying I have to be the one on top? And, the stuff in this, will give me ...”

“A cock, yes,” Stinger answered when her voice trails off. “Temporarily, but it's made so there's full feedback to the person using it. It will feel like an extension of yourself, just like your arm or leg.” 

He had anticipated the blush. He _isn't_ ready for the look of hunger that rolls right through her eyes. Well, that is information he doesn't need to know but really can't hurt for the situation. And possible future _situations_. 

Jupiter bites her lip and carries the bag over to the kitchen, placing it on the counter and fumbling slightly over the buckle. Stinger knows the contents by heart- one heat implement, several crushable capsules, and a specially programmed gag- like apparatus with a number of straps. Stinger expects her to ignore the last item or even discard it, show some sort of distaste or revulsion. To his surprise, this is what she lifts out of the bag first, one arching eyebrow raised high as she holds it by a strap between two fingers.

“Bite guard,” Stinger supplies readily. “Certain species can be fairly vicious during rut.” He doesn't expound on the topic. She certainly doesn't need the distraction. 

Her cheeks are pink but she nods and places it carefully back in the bag, fingers drifting almost delicately over the fake cock. It's what Terrans call 'flesh tone', a pale pinkish material that is smooth and looks totally average in size, about five inches in length, and when she wraps her fingers around it, it fits easily to her hand. 

“It will expand to fit him as he needs, but you will need to program it for yourself. If you tell it 'Terran female' when you fit it against yourself, it should mold to fit you.” He reaches in and pulls out one of the little capsules. “Adhesive, gentle enough for extended use but will keep it in place long enough for at least one round. It also doubles as a fluid barrier, more effective than Earth condoms.” 

Her Majesty can turn amazing shades of pink and red. Stinger watches and tries not to smile at the various emotions he can read off her. 

A sharp whine interrupts them, trailing off into a low groan. Two pairs of eyes rivet onto an arching back, blanket having slid down to just above Caine's hips. Her arousal hit Stinger's nose, sweeping past the flood of Caine's scent he's been ignoring while trying to get Jupiter around to the idea. It's time, past time, and he gives Jupiter a short bow. “Please prepare yourself, Your Majesty. I will go keep him calm.” 

 

She bolts for her en-suite bathroom, mind spinning with images and questions, but she's aroused and Caine so obviously needs this, and Stinger wouldn't lie to her. Not about something like this. 

It takes a moment to crush the capsule and smear the spreading contents across her mound, suddenly grateful for having shaved only a few days ago. She does exactly as Stinger suggested, placing the base of the fake cock against the curve of herself- about how it should sit if she were a guy, she supposes- and with her words it does, indeed, change. The base thins and expands, gluing itself with the adhesive across the entirety of her mound, one corner curving down to cradle her clit. It feels weird, different. 

It also is empowering as _fuck_ when she thinks about it. 

She almost dresses, but getting dressed would mean stripping down again in front of Stinger, and that is an awkward enough thought to keep her from getting completely dressed. She does throw a thin shirt on but leaves herself naked from the waist down. She imagines it might have an effect on Caine, at least, and takes a deep breath before leaving her room. 

She is _not_ ready for the image of Stinger sitting on her couch, curled almost protectively over Caine's head. Caine has his face buried practically in Stinger's crotch, nose deep into the jeans. Stinger's hand is cupped against the back of Caine's head, but it doesn't look like he's pushing the lycantant down, merely holding him still. 

The vision sending her blood pounding, and even though she can't smell it, her arousal reaches the men in a flood. They both look at her, Caine turning his head there in Stinger's lap. Caine makes a broken sound, invoking Stinger to run his hand through his hair. 

“Your Majesty,” Stinger rumbles, and no, she had not anticipating him to be turned on by any of this, he'd been so calm and collected before she left to the bathroom. But as Caine drags himself away and literally _crawls_ toward her, she can see the bulge in Stinger's jeans. “He needs you, Majesty.” 

It takes a minute to get Caine calmed down enough to figure out what she needs to do, nerves finally catching up once she gets a good look at what he's been hiding under the blanket. There's a soft pit of flesh just behind his balls that has opened up, dripping the way a woman would. It looks almost small, and when she glances up at Stinger for confirmation of the situation, he nods. “It will be fine, Majesty. He needs this.” 

She strokes the spot with a finger, and he whines in answer. She settles Caine on his knees, his back once again in that amazing arch, and grips the space- cock to nudge the tip against the flood of juices dripping down his balls. 

Stinger's right. The feedback is _amazing_. The slick slide as she rubs against the wetness and presses at the opening is nearly enough to make her cross her eyes, not quite like _anything_ she's ever felt before. She takes a shuddering breath and points it at that particular slick spot, applying just enough pressure to watch the flesh part around the point. 

Caine, below and in front of her, spasms and collapses onto his forearms, head dropping to touch the carpet. The sound he makes is nearly pained, and Jupiter stops before she can press the tip fully into him. 

“ _Now_ , Your Majesty, unless you wish to torment him.” 

The softly rounded tip and smooth shaft slide in, lycantant and human both crying out. Jupiter takes a moment to collect her head, the slick, tight, _giving_ heat of Caine is nothing.. not even like feeling her own wet pressure around her fingers. She pants as she watches her new addition pull from his body. There's a bit of resistance, and as she watches, ridges and veins appear along the shaft, taking on the texture of a flesh-and-blood cock. 

But instead of the ridge and mushroom head she expects, the tip tapers to a blunt point and the shaft gets gradually thicker toward the base. She thrusts experimentally and Caine makes another noise that is heavily aroused even as it sounds hurt. And then he shoves himself back onto her, and oh, the visual is as good as the physical feedback. A few more thrusts and she's fucking him properly, body falling into a rhythm that feels like it _should_ be awkward but isn't. Her skin is tingling and tight, she's dripping her own fluids below where the fake cock has ended, and there's an unearthly, unfamiliar sort of orgasm stringing up along her senses. 

It's about the time she feels it, a small catch on the thrust, and she pants as she checks the cause of it. The base has swollen, not part of the tapering but a separate shape. It takes a moment to connect thoughts together and realize what it is. A knot. Like a dog's knot. A giggle rises in her throat but she squashes it, sliding back into Caine's body and watching, mesmerized, as he takes the extra width with a little huff. 

Stinger is suddenly beside her, glancing down, not quite at her but where Caine's body is taking her fake alien cock. She pauses and shivers, having nearly forgotten about him in the rush of the new experience. Stinger glances up to her face and offers one of his small, calm smiles. 

“He's doing well. And Your Majesty, when you finally peak, make sure you're _in_ him. The knot will see to the rest of his needs.” 

She nods, voiceless and panting slightly, unable to help the way her hips grind against Caine's and feeling the tremors that rock him inside and out. Stinger turns away, steps forward toward the couch, and then freezes. Jupiter grabs at Caine's hips as he rocks, seeking balance and to still him before he risks hurting himself. 

Caine has Stinger by the ankle of his pants, fingers curled tight into the material, head flopped over and tipped back so he could stare vaguely up at Stinger. Jupiter leans forward, and sees the way the extra pressure makes Caine's eyelids flutter. She can't quite make out the word he mouths, eyes up at his old commander. She thinks she sees 'please', though, and after a long moment of silent communication where she tries to stay still instead of driving Caine back out of his mind, Stinger seems to give in. He folds down onto his knees in front of Caine, letting the lycantant bury his face back into the crotch of his jeans. 

He looks up and this time his eyes are gold and hexagonal and he _looks_ like the Splice Jupiter knows he is. His hands are carefully cradling Caine's head, and when Jupiter gives another thrust, Stinger nods his approval. 

She can't really help it at that point. The buildup has been too much, the pheromones riding everyone, the visuals starkly embedded in her mind. There's something about seeing Caine with his head in Stinger's lap that just _does_ something for her, sharp and shocking. She ruts against Caine, the movements shorter but sharper, harder, the delicious pressure against her body and feedback from the fake cock driving her to a mind- exploding orgasm. 

Caine is crying, soft muffled sobs, when Jupiter comes back down into herself. His body is clenched hard around her, back sweeping down to where he braces himself against the floor and his head is cradled in Stinger's lap. Jupiter runs her hand over his hip, eyes finding where the fake cock is stuck deep in Caine's body, no doubt locked in tight. 

“Stinger?” she calls out softly. 

“He'll be okay.” The words are as soft and calm as ever. “Don't pull out, it will hurt him.” 

Jupiter can feel that, through the feedback, feel how tightly clenched Caine is around the knot. She moves her hand to his back and starts stroking him the way her mother did for her when she was feeling bad. “What's going on, Stinger?”

Stinger keeps stroking Caine's hair as he starts explaining. “Splices are created in three variants: omegas, alphas, and betas. Usually warriors aren't created omega, not unless it's a special request from an Entitled. Amongst everything else they deemed wrong with Caine, he was genetically coded as an omega, a breeder. Every few cycles he falls into a need to get fucked and be knocked up.” Something bitter, angry, flashes over Stinger's face, there and gone. If Jupiter hadn't been watching, she would have missed it. “They didn't cull him, which would have been a mercy. They didn't change his biology either, for reasons I can only guess at. Usually he'd have a patch on his hip that pushes the need down into a day of vicious aggression and territorial awareness, which works for a soldier. But he hasn't had one in awhile and it would seem he was caught up by his body. 

“As an alpha I have the pheromones he needs, to satisfy him, but I am not a lycantant. My body would not be able to give him everything he needs. The knot, mostly, which is what triggers his own hormones enough to grant him relief. The bee strain I was spliced with has nothing of the sort.” 

Jupiter shifts slightly as she ponders over the news, the resulting groan reminds her to keep her hands moving. Caine is nearly a puddle – tense, sweaty, crying puddle- under the combined manual attention. “Why is he crying like this?” 

“Omegas are breeders. They're _made_ to be fertile, compatible within a certain degree to humans or within their own spliced species. The makers didn't have the mercy to cull him, but they did make it impossible for him to breed this way. That knowledge is a heavy weight for an omega in heat.” 

She's not certain she understands the whole omega thing, but there's fury growing. They have a patch to suppress the need but they still chose to do that to his body. She imagines it probably wasn't his choice, either, if he's still feeling like this about it. “What can I do for him?”

“May I be honest, Your Majesty?” 

“Of course, Stinger, please. I just want to help him.” 

“He's going to need your presence through this- not just physically here to rut him, but afterwards. I can only guess whether he will be more clingy or if he will try to shut himself off from you, due to the differences in your status as an Entitled and his being a Splice. Most likely the second. If you want to help, then make sure he doesn't shut himself down. It will kill him. Maybe not in a day, or a week, but in time, cutting himself from the one person he's chosen so far to actually help him through this will destroy him. I have spent a lot of time and flesh in the time I have known him, making sure he survives.” 

He's utterly serious, and Jupiter tries to listen to what he's saying and _not_ saying. She's already seen some of the ways Caine treats her, the obvious markings of the space- class system that's been pounded into his head. It's not outside of reason that he might think he coerced her into this position simply because he had come here instead of elsewhere. 

She stays silent nearly too long, for Stinger looks up with a solemn expression. “I'm not asking you to force yourself or him into a relationship. But he chose you, when he knew he would likely suffer through this, instead of coming to me for refuge or going to a medical facility for chemical relief. When he comes out of it enough to have his mind to himself again, there are high chances of him beating himself up for making that choice. Especially without talking to you about it ahead of time. You're royalty, for him to inflict himself upon your presence while he's in such a state without your order is...” Stinger trails off. “Some would have him killed for that offense. If he were truly fertile he might have been tossed down to be used and bred while he couldn't object. Most Entitled would have found a way to make him pay for it, one way or another.” 

_“I refuse.”_

If either of them notice the hint of a growl to her voice, neither of them say anything. Between them Caine whimpers and then hiccups another sob, the tears slowing down. Minutes are lost as they turn to soothing him, but it does nothing to change her mood. Instead it only drives the sentiment deeper, that the things done to Caine outside of his will are abhorrent. However Splices are looked upon in space, she doesn't see them as less than human. Just a little different. 

As far as she's concerned, it's not a _bad_ thing.

It takes a few more long minutes before Caine calms the rest of the way, fine trembling shivers coursing down his back. The front of Stinger's pants are soaked in tears, the dark jeans made all the darker from moisture. Jupiter manages to not even stare when Stinger strips his shirt off and uses it to gently wipe Caine's face. 

She's not entirely certain she's going to survive the day, and even though Stinger looks old enough to pass as her _father_ , seeing him take care of Caine so tenderly is doing weird things to her. At least it's successfully- if temporarily- distracting her from her rage at Caine's makers. 

Caine murmurs and she doesn't catch the words, but Stinger runs a soothing hand over the lycantant's head. He looks up at her, over the slumped curve of Caine's back. “Move a little. See if you are still locked together.” 

She grinds her hips, tiny circular motions that make Caine moan loudly. He's still snug around her, tight and wet, but whether through design or function, the knot has diminished enough that moving no longer feels overwhelming. She tries to pull away, and it tugs against him inside. The clench is enough to have her eyes rolling back again. 

The sounds he makes when she pushes back into him, before she can pull the extra width out of him significantly, they spark something in her. She pulls back just far enough to grind back into him, moving what little she can without dislodging the knot. Caine whines, and moans, and makes sharp, guttural noises she doesn't have words to. 

Tremors run over his skin again, and Jupiter reaches down to stroke him. She's not certain if he's come at all, and while he may be enjoying being fucked surely he would enjoy a little attention to his cock. 

She's not expecting the small spurt of wet against her hand, before she can get her fingers on him. She pulls her hand up, and there's a splatter of clear- white fluid there, with the universal look and feel of come. She glances up at Stinger, but his eyes are for Caine, still holding him in that soothing manner he's been using. So she shrugs and goes with it, dropping her hand to wrap around him. The smear of fluid on her fingers provides enough slick for her to move easily over his half- hard cock, and no matter how much she strokes her hand and fucks into him, he doesn't get any harder. 

He does, however, continue to spurt every time she grinds deep. It doesn't feel like an orgasm she has any familiarity with, but he's still giving hungry, happy, _more_ sort of sounds. And Stinger hasn't given any sign that she needs to stop. 

She pushes her body through another, smaller orgasm, one that shivers along her skin as she clings to Caine's body. He shudders and his cock twitches again in response.

She might not be certain how everything about this works, but she's enjoying it, and except for the emotional breakdown, she's certain Caine is as well. 

“Good boy,” Stinger rumbles, breaking the soft silence of panting and other small sounds. Caine jerks at the words, and Stinger puts his hand back against Caine's head. This time it does look a little like he's holding Caine in place. “You've done well, pleased your alpha so much.” Jupiter watches with a bit of surprise as Caine stays tense for a minute, and then suddenly relaxes. She hadn't even noticed he was tense. 

The knot in the fake cock deflates as she watches the change come over Caine, fingers still working carefully. She draws back and it slides mostly out of him, much farther than before. 

He makes a breathless noise but doesn't demand it back. Stinger glances at her and nods, motioning for her to go ahead and move. She pulls completely out and sits back on her heels. Her mouth is a little dry, and she can't imagine how Caine feels after the panting and crying and whining. She makes an executive decision and stands. Caine chokes back a sound, maybe a complaint, and she reaches down and strokes a hand over his back.

“Stay,” she says in her best commanding voice, which sounds a little wobbly. “I'm just getting water.” And then, because he responded so well when Stinger said it, adds, “You're being so good, Caine.” 

The next sound is definitely muffled, and when she glances at Caine's face he has the base of Stinger's left thumb between his lips. Not biting, there's not enough strain to his jaw, but definitely muffling himself on it. 

It's hotter than it has any right to be. 

She shuffles into the kitchen and gets cool water in a large, cheap plastic cup, taking a moment to drink and check the edges of the glue- seal on the alien cock. It looks like it's sticking well enough, and nothing's uncomfortable. Just an edge of sensation that is completely out of her usual normal. 

(She would not complain about using it again, she thinks. But it's not time to think about it too much.)

Caine's softly begging again, and she refills the cup before rejoining the men in her living room. Stinger is sitting between Caine and the couch, a hand cupped against the lycantant's cheek, making him look up into honey-gold eyes. Stinger's wings are spread wide, curled lazily around them both but not so much that Jupiter can't see them. 

Stinger's wings, but not Caine's, and she glances at the empty back with its twin circular scars. It sends a sharp pain of _wrong_ through her, and an immediate wash of guilt. She hadn't noticed, even when stroking his back, that Caine's wings are missing. She'd been too caught up in everything else. 

“Where are his wings?” She manages to grit out, a little water splashing her hand before she realizes her hands are shaking. 

“He retracted them completely.” Stinger's free hand sweeps down Caine's spine and traces over a knot of tissue that's set higher and apart from the scars. Caine flinches in his hands. “Wings are not programmed for sexual pleasure, and it's too easy to injure them in the throes of heat.” He moves his hand up and now both hands cradle Caine's face. “I won't hurt you,” he murmurs. 

“Alpha,” Caine rumbles, and then whines and twists his body. 

Between the two of them they manage to get Caine to drink some water, Stinger drinking from the same cup and then setting it aside. In the few minutes it takes for this, Caine is once again whining, and Stinger gives Jupiter a sympathetic, tired sort of smile. “Again. He still needs you.” 

The second round goes by without the sobbing, the orgasms still mind-blowing. Caine is a panting wreck by the time Jupiter has come again, and he continues the dripping, splattering sort of orgasm she seems capable of wrenching out of him. By the time they have both caught their breath and the alien cock has shrunk, Caine slides off of it on his own. He collapses face- first into Stinger's lap, sprawling in a sort of boneless exhaustion without a care for the ruined carpet or his nakedness. 

Resigned already to having to wash it later, Jupiter covers him with the throw blanket as soon as Stinger has managed to maneuver Caine out of the worst of the mess. Within moments he's unconscious, soothed by sex and pheromones. 

Jupiter watches Stinger watching Caine, before ducking away to remove the space- tech and get dressed. When she comes back she settles on top of the blanket, careful not to trap Caine in it, and slides into a doze. 

She's not fooled by Stinger's mostly closed eyes, either. There's the same tension about him that Caine uses whenever he's standing guard. 

 

***

 

When Caine comes to, it's to warmth and the smell of food and someone carefully wrapping his fingers around a cup. Stinger smiles down at him, one of those small, careful ones Caine is too familiar with. “Thanks,” he manages to whisper, throat sore around the sounds. The cup has water, and it helps, and when he's done he lowers his eyes from Stinger's face. “Sorry if I caused you problems.” 

“You're a foolish one at times,” Stinger rumbles, and Caine can hear the restless buzzing in the undertone that humans would hear for a growl. It only makes him duck his head further. 

“But you chose well, pup.” 

Caine glances up, surprised at the words, and then tracks Stinger's line of sight. Jupiter walks around from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches that smell suspiciously of melted cheese and hot butter, smiling and settling down the plate between him and Stinger. She leans over and cups a hand to the back of his head, arresting his movement, and then kisses him on the forehead. His skin tingles brilliantly where her lips were. 

“Good boy,” she murmurs as she straightens up, and something _pleased-happy-proud_ explodes in his chest.


End file.
